


They say a witch lives in the woods.

by MissieMoose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble, Fantasy, Flash Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissieMoose/pseuds/MissieMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have all seen her -and yet, they have never seen her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They say a witch lives in the woods.

They say a witch lives in the woods.

There are some who say she appears young and beautiful with long, golden locks and milk-white skin. She dances, naked, under the full moon’s light and her laugh is rich like honey. But her beauty masks a vain and cruel soul. Youth is the price she demands in exchange for her mystical favors. Should she be angered, beware! Sickness will descend upon the village. Crops will fail. Children shall not be born. She will wreak havoc until she has been appeased, and she will only be appeased by spilling the blood of a beautiful woman.

There are others who say she appears old and fragile with skin like tanned leather and hair of silver threads. She does not dance, but sings, under moonless skies with a fire before her seat, the flames dancing for her. Her voice ancient and strong like the mountains, filled with the wisdom of a thousand tomes. Her songs are her magic and the fee to hear her sing, to hear her wisdom, is a lock of hair and breath of air. She can be neither angered nor calmed; she only Is.

There are a few who say she appears neither young nor old, but in the middle of her life and she is as wild as the forest itself. Her hair is brown and hangs to her waist in long, thick ropes; feathers and bones are twisted into the locks. Paint made from a fire’s ashes flows along her body in intricate patterns only she can understand. In return for her magic potions, she requests a bath drawn from the blood of a goat and the milk of a cow.

But they are wrong.

They have all seen her -and yet, they have never seen her.

The witch who lives in the woods has skin the color of freshly tilled earth. Her hair is as white and frothy as the clouds in the sky. Wrinkles course along her body like riverbeds, betraying her age but not her wisdom. Her smile is warm and inviting, like a fire on a cold winter’s night.

Though she walks with a limp, she dances with the children when her aged bones allow. Though her voice is hoarse with age, she sings to the infants as they are born into the world, soothing their cries and calming their mothers. Though her hands are knobbed and shake, she teaches the youth how to knead their bread into tender loaves. Though she appears tame and civil, it is she who ensures bountiful crops and draws the river along its course.

It is she who has allowed this village to be and it is she who will guard this village until Time comes to an end.

It is she who has seen children born and grow, people live and die, families begin and end.

It is she who is called ‘Tao-Goa’ –All Mother- for all know and love her, but know nothing of her life.

They say a witch lives in the woods, but they are wrong. She sometimes lives in the woods where she talks to the animals. She sometimes lives in the earth where she urges the plants to grow. She sometimes lives in the water where she dances with the fish.

But her true home has always been, and always will, be in the hearts of the villagers where she is just Tao-Goa and not the witch who lives in the woods.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the opening phrase stuck in my head the last few days, so I finally decided to sit down yesterday and write something out with it. I quite like how this turned out, even if it isn't the sort of thing I normally write.


End file.
